


Patience. Patience, Patience.

by Bjorn_Haraldson



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Character, Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalised ableism, Meltdown, Modern Era, Other, Sensory Overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bjorn_Haraldson/pseuds/Bjorn_Haraldson
Summary: Family gatherings are great, but sometimes people just get on your nerves.Ragnar thinks he should really be too old for temper tantrums.
Relationships: Bjorn & Ragnar Lothbrok, Bjorn/Gunnhild (Vikings)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Patience. Patience, Patience.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29966661) by [aeonwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeonwrites/pseuds/aeonwrites). 



> I was inspired by the wonderful aeonwrites, whose great fic 'Stay' gave me the motivation to finish and post this.
> 
> As a neurodivergent person myself, I have written Ragnar's character as accurately as I can, using my own experiences as a guide. Any ableist language does NOT reflect my thoughts or opinions. If any portrayal here is offensive to anybody, please let me know.
> 
> Use of derogatory terms referring to oneself, and implied past child abuse.

Ragnar was grateful that so many people had come. He _was_. But when he agreed to Aslaug’s idea of a family barbeque, he’d thought it would actually be…well, just family.

His sons were here, as were their partners. Rollo and Siggy, Floki and Helga with Angrboda, Torstein, Arne, and even Astrid and Lagertha had come. Ragnar knew them all well and loved them with all his heart.

But there was also a lot of people he didn’t know. Tony and his wife Lisa apparently lived down the road, but he’d only seen them once or twice. A gaggle of ladies he had no hopes of remembering the names of chittered and giggled at the table with each other, letting their young children scream and cry. It was…unfamiliar, raucous, and just a bit too much.

“Well isn’t that just the most delightful sound?” Tony came up behind him with Lisa, nudging his shoulder in a way that made him grit his teeth. He smelled of deodorant. It wasn’t a bad smell, but it felt like it was burning his nose, and mingled with the smell of cooking meat.

Ragnar stared at him.

“No, it’s awful,” he disagreed, earning a short silence as Lisa and Tony looked at each other. They laughed, and Ragnar stood awkwardly, feeling like an idiot.

“It was sarcasm, hon,” Lisa told him with what he hoped was a kind smile. He couldn’t be sure.

“Figures. Muscles of an ox and brains of a-“

“Tony!” Lisa slapped her husband on the arm. Ragnar flinched at the sound and decided to say nothing about how he was pretty certain his muscles were human-shaped, just like his brain.

Ragnar found himself drained very quickly of social battery and put his beer bottle on a random table as he moved back to the patio. Ragnar caught Bjorn’s eye and shot him a reassuring smile, but Bjorn just frowned and pulled away from his girlfriend, Gunnhild, whose company Ragnar genuinely enjoyed. They made a good match for each other, too: Bjorn was an anaesthesiologist, and Gunnhild was a psychologist. Ragnar sometimes wondered where Bjorn got his brains from. Certainly not himself, because he wasn’t stupid, but he was hardly doctor smart.

Plus, Bjorn was perhaps too observant for his own good.

“Hey,” he greeted, though Ragnar barely caught it because a handful of kids all shrieked, and the noise made the sensation of the hot sun on his skin even worse.

“You look a bit ill. Are you alright?”

Ragnar swallowed, trying to find the words. It should have been easy. He knew what he could say.

_I’m fine, just give me a moment._

They didn’t make it past his throat and the pause was enough time that he felt the tips of his ears grow red, the hot and prickly feeling all over his body getting so much worse as he felt the growing number of eyes on him.

It would be so easy to flap his hands, to shake out some of this energy and to just _do_ something, but he fisted his them in the hem of his T-shirt instead. Not even the one he liked to wear, which was thicker and softer. Aslaug had made him wear these new jeans too, and the fabric was stiff and unyielding and like sandpaper that sent lightning bolts of an ugly feeling into his stomach.

He knew he looked like a child, but he couldn’t help it and his father’s voice echoed in his head.

**“You’re not a retard, so don’t act like one!”**

Without thinking how it would look, Ragnar turned away without a word and entered the house. The air was cooler than the stiflingly hot summer sun outside, but the fluorescent light was pale and painful, humming like a beehive. Which was weird because it normally wasn’t that loud-

“Ragnar?”

Bjorn, who had followed him, asked quietly. The soft sound hit his ears and crawled like ants over his skin. Ragnar shuddered and squirmed, pulling at his T-shirt so that it bunched and pressed hard lines into his skin. Some of the stitches probably ripped.

Humiliation and frustration made everything worse. He was a grown man, not a child. He should be able to control himself and not have stupid temper tantrums-

“If you-“

“Shut up,” he found himself saying, the words tumbling from his lips as his hands flapped close to his chest. He couldn’t help it. “Shut up, shut up, shut up-“ in a desperate bid to block out the kids screeching and people laughing and light humming-

The sounds stuck in his throat, and he couldn’t grasp them anymore, lost in the ugly feeling that slithered under his skin.

Ragnar’s throat and jaw buzzed as he hummed, the dull light beyond his closed eyelids sending electricity zipping through his body, lighting every nerve on fire. He dropped into a crouch, back against the wall, and slammed his hands over his ears. He dug his nails hard into his skull and rocked back and forth, and it was so _stupid,_ but he couldn’t stop-

Bjorn reached out and touched his arm.

“No!” he barked, jerking violently away, but the hands followed him and wound around his wrists. It hurt, radiating all up his arms and shoulders. Ragnar struggled, twisting and writhing away from it, making a sound low in his throat because why couldn’t they just stop touching him?!

“You’re hurting yourself,” Bjorn argued, but withdrew. Ragnar scrunched his eyes shut and dug his nails into his knees instead, shaking his head. _I don’t care._

“I think I can help you. Can I try something?”

Ragnar didn’t answer, but it seemed Bjorn took that as a ‘yes’.

Arms wrapped around him, and Ragnar didn’t even have time to register that the touch might be uncomfortable before they squeezed him in an almost-too-tight embrace against a broad body.

The relief was rapid and immense. The worms wriggling under his skin stilled and dissipated, the sounds and lights and feelings sorting themselves out again.

Bjorn’s hoodie was heavy and soft under his fingers, and Ragnar breathed in the neutral scent of clean clothes as he mindlessly pet the white fluff on the inside of the hood.

The angle was a little awkward and his stupid jeans pinched the skin on his hip, so as soon as Ragnar felt he had it together he pulled away. No longer quite so overwhelmed, the humiliation and foolishness came rushing in. It had been a long time since he’d hand a tantrum like that. Normally he could avoid situations that made it happen. Or just, you know, suck it up and carry on like a normal person.

“Better?” Bjorn asked, his voice soft but not so quiet this time. Shame flared; his own son shouldn’t have to help him control a fucking hissy fit.

“Better?” Ragnar mumbled, trying to translate the sound into meaning and not quite able to formulate words of his own yet. “Better, better…” he squirmed and pushed his feet into the ground so that his back pressed up against the wall. Closing his eyes, Ragnar exhaled a rush of air as though to kick-start his brain into action. “Sorry,”

“It’s alright,” Bjorn assured, although Ragnar couldn’t quite tell if it was genuine or impatient. He couldn’t identify the expression on his face either. It always was. Lagertha had always said he took things too literally.

“You know,” his son started, shifting so that he was leaning on the wall beside him. “There are explanations for this kind of thing,”

Defensive, Ragnar scowled. “’m not a retard,” he mumbled, but they didn’t feel like his own words.

“What? No, of course you’re not. Where did that come from?” Bjorn sounded angry, though Ragnar wasn’t sure if it was aimed at him. He swallowed and shook his head, shoving his hands between his calves and thighs when he realised he was twisting his wrists.

Bjorn left it alone, perhaps sensing that that was something he wouldn’t talk about. Ragnar probably wouldn’t ever answer that question. His sons didn’t need to know any of that.

“Do you want me to go?” Bjorn offered, and for a second Ragnar thought about it. He really didn’t want to go back outside. He kind of just wanted to go back to his bedroom where is was quiet, clean and cool and change out of these stupid jeans.

So he nodded, and Bjorn stood without another word. Before he left, though, Ragnar heard a shuffle and Bjorn deposited his folded-up hoodie where he’d been sat. He waited until the room was empty before reaching out for it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Honestly, Bjorn trying to help Ragnar deal with life is my favourite thing ever. 
> 
> I have so many ideas for this! If you want to see more or have any prompts you might want me to fill, go crazy in the comments! Thanks for reading :D


End file.
